Status Updates From The Satyr & Other Tales

I love the dialogue in the story "The Feast of the Sphinx". A lot of people, a lot of readers, in fact, would say "no one really talks like that"!

You know what? You're right. No one really does talk like that . . .

AND THAT'S WHY I LIKE IT!!!

Banality is not automatically "artistic" or "daring" or "outre". Give me a pile of adjectives, strange syntax, beautiful metaphors.

Give.

It.

To.

Me!

Imagine Jan Svankmajer, Angela Carter, and David Lynch getting together to do a long story about prisoners fleeing soviet agents and finding themselves in The House of Leaves - but worse. A different tone for Clark, to be sure, but not bad-different, just different. A phantasmagoric cabinet of wonders.

In "The Horned Tongue," a young bookseller finds that his dead wife had had congress with the Devil. Clark does what he does best, weaving an intricate web of intrigue and betrayal, though one must not pity the young bookseller . . . Five luciferian stars for this beautiful weaving of deceipt and desire, with language itself as a supporting character (or is that "characters")?

Thus ends the dream-labyrinth that is "The Satyr". The question is: "Who is dreaming and who is the dreamed". Our view from the labyrinth (or from the wartime "trenches," psychogeographic trenches, really) it's never completely clear. Five stars.

Note to self: quote p.91 in its entirety and 1st para p.92. Beautiful, dark, surreal prose.

Now this is turning into some strange, esoteric thriller, as if David Lynch and Alfred Hitchcock had collaborated on a film script. I love it.

Clark's ability to clearly describe "dream logic" is awe-inspiring. Such a difficult thing to describe, yet Clark does so in such a way that reading the words on the page invites one into the dream there portrayed. It is a spell, a summoning of the reader into Morpheus' realm.

Clark has the ability (and a way) to infuse the knockabout underworld of London with a certain mysticism, even a shift from the banal mean streets to a series of transcendental portals. Grit and magic meld together in a way that seems not only natural, but logical.

I can't quite tell if Marlene is half-crazy, outright insane, or the wisest person on the crumbling streets of London. Maybe she's bluffing. Maybe not. In any case, though, I find her fascinating.

There is something about Clark's syntax that I love. I can't place my finger on it, but In Delirium's Circle has the same "fingerprint". I need to tease this one out.